Chapter 9 #2
He reached out to touch Roy’s arm because well, he was a toucher, and he liked touching Roy.
“You’re not wrong. But neither am I. Bad luck, loneliness and abandonment.
Steve, Pete and I lived in that toilet before we ended up with Marjorie, and she got the shit cleaned off of us.
But when the wind turns a certain way, we can still smell it on ourselves. Tal didn’t have that advantage.
“Even though he’s with us, he thinks he’s still in that shithole.
Maybe we’ll never get him clean. But when he gives me that rare opportunity to remind him of the possibilities, the hope, the fact he has us and will never lose us, where I think I can do it without enabling him too much, I’m damn well going to. Okay?”
His throat had gotten tight, and he had to clear it. He let go of Roy. “He’s so goddamn talented, but he thinks no one really loves him. That it’s only that talent, and the fame it’s brought, that people value.”
Roy considered, then met DJ’s gaze. “So maybe the time to check him into rehab isn’t at the end of this tour, when he’s done what you want from him.”
Trust Roy, with his practical, no bullshit voice, to point a finger right at what DJ, Steve and Pete had struggled with countless times.
“You know what goes into a tour,” DJ said. “The scheduling, the fans who’ve paid for tickets and depend on us to show up when we say we’re going to. The record label who helps front costs. But set the bullshit business stuff aside.”
He took a breath and laid out the biggest obstacle. “I try to force Tal into rehab in the middle of that, and he tells me to fuck off and stomps away. While we’re out there handling our commitments, maybe he ODs in a hotel room by himself.”
Maybe Tal needed to hit rock bottom, but since that could be a fatal fall, DJ kept looking for a different way.
Roy had gone still as DJ spoke. The lines in his face, the emotions behind his eyes, told DJ he’d somehow touched a nerve on Roy’s own issues with addiction.
“Roy…”
“Okay.” Roy stopped him with a lifted hand. “But I’m going to make it clear he doesn’t pull shit like this again.”
“Understood,” DJ said cautiously. “Why did you call me DJ a few minutes ago?”
He needed to see the flicker in Roy’s gaze as he hit the personal note, take the small bite of pleasure it gave him.
“Because you’re speaking to me as the frontman for Survival and I wanted you to know I heard you.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks for being honest with me about Tal. And listening. I appreciate it.”
Roy moved a step away, so when he turned back toward DJ, his back was to the bus.
With Roy’s shoulders in the way, they wouldn’t see him stroke a knuckle down DJ’s chest, a potent caress he felt even through his T-shirt.
Probably the first time he’d had a barrier between Roy’s touch and his chest. Damn it. But it still felt good.
“As far as being honest with you,” Roy said, “I won’t ever be otherwise. Now,” his eyes sharpened, taking DJ’s mind back to the hotel bed, his ass in the air, body humming with anticipation for Roy’s dominance. “Get back on the bus, Dory.”
Did Roy know how it helped, establishing that they could disagree as client and bodyguard, yet reminding him that Roy still wanted him?
Whether he knew it or not, it really, really did.
All his attention had gone from his motor skills to elsewhere in his body, but once DJ could get his brain in gear and move, they headed toward the bus. By the time they reached the rear entrance, DJ had recovered enough to tease Roy when he gestured to DJ to precede him up the steps.
“Trying to ogle my ass?”
“I’m trying to decide if leaving a handprint on it would make you smarter.”
“Anytime you want to find out, have at it.”
With a grin, DJ hopped back up into the bus and strode down the aisle, giving his bandmates a nod that said things were square. Pete and Steve were relieved, though Tal still looked ready for a fight. Before DJ could sit down with his guitar and think of how to defuse it, Roy took the lead.
“Tal.”
DJ tensed, ready to intervene, but Roy gave him a short quelling look before turning to his drummer, perched tensely on the bunk.
“You’re right,” Roy said. “It’s not your job to cover unexpected contingencies that can affect DJ’s safety.
Touring is a slog, and you deserve a night off.
It was a generous and thoughtful gift. Just next time, tell me, so I can take care of the security details.
I won’t ruin your surprise. I’ve been known to be discreet. Can you help me with that?”
Tal shot a glance at DJ. “Did you tell him to say that?”
“No. I figured he was going to rip you a new one. I was ready to put my manly body in his way to keep him from beating you to a pulp.”
“So says the swizzle stick with curly hair.” Pete picked the right path toward a truce. “My money is on Roy tying you scrawny bastards into a two-man pretzel and tossing you into the luggage compartment.”
Roy’s lips quirked, but he returned to his seat. As he did, he tossed a parting shot over his shoulder. “In the words of Frank Farmer, ‘I don’t want to talk about this again.’”
Lonnie pushed back her straight hair. “Oh, I loved that scene.”
At the blank looks from DJ and the others, she sighed. “Really? The Bodyguard, Kevin Costner and Mike Starr having the big kitchen fight? Not a single word exchanged until Frank proves he can beat the crap out of Tony at any time. Then he just says that one line.” She shivered. “He was so sexy.”
“Sounds like we need a watch party after the Atlanta show. Since it’s a total chick flick, any girl we bring will be in a giving mood and…”
Steve cleared his throat loudly. “Give us the kind of attention we dream about,” Pete amended as Lonnie suppressed a giggle.
“Hell, we’re rockstars.” Tal executed a rapid beat on the bunk frame. “We don’t have to dream about it. We fucking live it.”
The tension dissipated. DJ sent Roy an amused look for bringing up the movie reference that kept revisiting their relationship. Then he reached over and slapped Tal’s foot, dangling from the bunk.
“You did good, brother. We’ll sing ‘Stand by Me’ for Lonnie under the stars tonight.”
After DJ sat back, he saw Tal grudgingly send Roy a nod, and Roy tipped his chin at him. Then Tal shot DJ a look that said, See? I can be nice.
DJ shook his head and bent over his guitar again, hiding his expression.
He didn’t want to reveal what he was thinking, that he’d prefer to sit with Roy during a movie, rather than a nubile girl excited to be with the lead singer of Survival.
If such a thing could ever happen, would Roy stretch an arm over the back of the couch behind DJ’s shoulders, sit close enough their thighs brushed?
God, he was being a teenager. But that was okay. When he lifted his gaze, Roy gave him a potent half-lidded expression that made him wonder if Roy’s thoughts were going the same way.
With its cabins, Olympic-sized pool and extensive playground equipment, the campground was an upscale glamping spot.
A handful of roadies accompanied the tour bus in vehicles that could be used for less conspicuous stops, so one had been dispatched, accompanied by a member of Roy’s team, to grab McDonald’s takeout.
As DJ sat in an Adirondack chair by a firepit, he finished his fries and absorbed the potential songs playing out in front of him. Steve pushing Lonnie on a swing. Pete and Tal in the pool with Zed and Harold, one of the roadies. Moss had driven ninety minutes from Atlanta to join them.
In the spirit of the evening, he didn’t bother them with much business, but Moss did tell DJ that Tal had instructed him to bill his own account for the campground cost, not the band’s.
It was nice to hear, even when Tal’s dreamy look told DJ he’d popped some of his pills to mellow out.
Roy had reached out to some local contacts for more manpower to secure the campground to his satisfaction. Coordinating that kept him coming and going, but on one of those trips he grabbed a cheeseburger from the McDonald’s bag. His mouth thinned when he noted Tal’s state, but he didn’t comment.
“Hey, didn’t you promise my girl a song?
” Steve asked, bringing Lonnie over to the fire pit.
The circle of chairs around it were filling up, Pete and Tal having come to join DJ and Moss, along with Harold, Zed and a few others.
Favorite adult beverages were passed around, as well as vintage boxes of McDonald’s animal crackers.
“I didn’t think they had these anymore,” Pete noted, munching on the dessert.
“They don’t, but they sell them at some of the grocery stores,” Lonnie said. “Theo said Roy’s guy had them stop and pick up a bunch.”
A decision which had to be Roy-directed. His bodyguard could be a nurturer when he wanted to be. As long as it didn’t interfere with his warrior-defender role.
“Hey, nobody throw their box away. I’m going to string them together and hang them up in the tour bus. If that’s okay,” Lonnie added, glancing around the circle.
She was always careful to make sure she didn’t overstep the band dynamic. DJ liked that about her.
Pete, sitting on her left, leaned forward to eye Steve. “If you ever fuck it up with her, we’re ejecting you from the band for terminal stupidity.”
Lonnie laughed, a sound that lifted the spirits. As they’d told Leann, DJ had spent quite a bit of time tone-chasing it, knowing it needed to be in their music.
He was going to give her the best Ben E. King version of “Stand By Me” since Ben himself had done it. After throwing his Mickey D wrappers into the trash can, he picked up his guitar and gave Tal a nod.
“Percussion, please.”
“On it, man.” Tal programmed his drum pad and the ch-ch intro sound started, which he backed up with a light patter on the drum pad’s surface.
Then DJ began to sing under the stars.